


These Grains of Sand

by Emamel



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: 5+1 Things, Cliche, Curses, Fluff, Galra Keith (Voltron), Magical Realism, Minor Angst, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-28
Updated: 2018-01-28
Packaged: 2019-03-10 17:34:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13506444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emamel/pseuds/Emamel
Summary: Look, Keith doesn't mean to keep getting cursed. It just happens. He should probably be more upset about that than he is, but it's hard to hold onto that negativity when Lance is the best (only) curse-breaker he knows.Or - five times Lance had to break a curse on Keith and one time he really didn't.





	These Grains of Sand

**Author's Note:**

> Jenny, I blame you.  
> Title is taken from the extended version of Meatloaf's 'I would do anything for love' -  
>  _Will you make me some magic with your own two hands?_  
>  _Can you build an Emerald city with these grains of sand?_  
>  _Can you give me something I can take home?_
> 
> I have no idea if I'll ever manage to finish this or not. Either way, feel free to come and yell at me on tumblr where I can be found as theaceace.

Keith probably shouldn’t have been surprised that it was Hunk that answered the door, but somehow he was. It was still early enough that the sun sat low on the horizon, the sky only just lightening to pink – it was common knowledge that Lance valued any opportunity to sleep in, particularly as those opportunities were becoming fewer and farther between. Hunk’s gaze swept down and back up once, then again, slower. Keith watched as he took note of the gloveless hands tucked tight against his torso, the curve of his shoulders, the restless shifting from foot to foot. His face collapsed and he rubbed a tired hand over his face, nearly dislodging Yellow from her perch on his shoulder.

“I knew I had a bad feeling about this morning,” he moaned, voice high and muffled by his palm. “I guess you need Lance for whatever this is?”

“Yeah, I – yeah,” he said lamely, moving to rub his arm before thinking better of it and clasping his hands together until his nails started to dig in. The way Hunk stiffened at the aborted movement made it clear he had noticed, but Hunk – dependable, sweet Hunk – didn’t comment, only stood back until Keith could cross the threshold.

“Is Lance up yet?” Keith asked, partly out of guilt, and partly as a distraction. The wards swept open, the protective magic enveloping him with more enthusiasm than ever; he fought to stifle the heat creeping up his face. It was always the same. Each time he visited, the wards seemed more and more receptive to his presence. Not to say that Keith disliked it – the steady thrum of the bulk of Hunk’s magic laced with the cooling waves of Lance’s design made him feel safer than almost anything he’d known before – more that he always felt so slightly out-of-place beneath it. But then, that shouldn’t be surprising either given the fundamental difference between their magics. Between Hunk and Lance, who had been taught by their families from an age so young neither remembered a time before it; and Keith, who… hadn’t.

The wards and seals continued to open as Keith stepped carefully across the creaking shop floor towards the stairs in the back that led up to Hunk and Lance’s apartment. Hunk shut and locked the door behind them, making sure the sign was still twisted to read ‘closed’.

“If he wasn’t before he will be now,” Hunk said. There was something in his voice that wasn’t exasperation exactly, but Keith couldn’t identify it.

Yellow leapt down from Hunk’s shoulder, racing past Keith and up the stairs with all the grace of a real cat – a flash of movement and there was Blue, greeting Yellow with a soft nudge and faint rumble that could almost be a purr if it weren’t for the way it lingered in the air like thunder. Blue tilted her head; her eyes were a vibrant, luminous yellow from lid to lid like all familiars’, yet somehow Keith still had the impression that she met his gaze before flicking her tail and stalking away. If Keith didn’t know better he’d think she was mocking him somehow.

Even before he reached the top of the stairs and shuffled awkwardly into the kitchen, Keith could hear Lance. Unapologetically loud and enthusiastic, accent softened around the ‘R’s in a way he’d never quite managed to lose. Dear.

Keith’s cheeks felt warm. He resisted the urge to cover his face with his hands; his blushes were rarely visible, at least.

“ _No_ beautiful, I already told you it isn’t like – what? What, _no_!” The tell-tale laugh, just slightly uncomfortable, drifted over him. “And it wouldn’t matter if it _was_ , because – Keith!”

Lance’s smile when Keith met his gaze was blindingly bright, genuinely pleased, and only a little forced. If Keith hadn’t made a habit of studying Lance’s smiles, he probably wouldn’t have noticed. This early in the morning, he was still dressed in well-worn pyjamas and a heavy robe that slipped off one shoulder as Lance swept forward, moving to draw Keith into a hug. Without thinking, Keith stepped back, almost falling over himself in his haste. Lance froze, arms still outstretched, smile frozen and strained on his face – Keith had to fight another flinch, breath coming fast, the warmth in his gut curdling to anxious, furious guilt. It had been months since he’d stopped slipping away from Lance’s casual touches and started leaning into them, started looking forward to them. Keith kept his gaze trained on Lance’s bare feet, toenails painted delicate seafoam with sky-blue designs carefully stencilled over the top. His hands curled tighter together. There was a quick inhale followed by the click of a tongue against teeth and he knew that Lance had noticed; of course he had. Lance was good at reading patterns and better at reading people.

“Alright hit me – what did you do?” Lance’s voice was gently teasing. When Keith chanced a look up, his mouth was tugged to one side wryly, bright eyes shrewd.

“Why do you think it’s something I did?” Keith asked indignantly. 

“Uh, because you’re a hothead? And nine times out of ten, it _is_ something you did. Or said.” Lance shot a commiserating look over Keith’s shoulder at Hunk, who had just walked back in fully dressed, Yellow padding at his heels. She leapt up onto the rickety kitchen table to join Blue beside the vase of wilting lavender, sending the whole thing rocking despite the wads of paper shoved haphazardly under the uneven leg. Hunk brushed a thoughtless hand against Lance’s waist as he passed and Lance turned briefly into the contact before focusing back on Keith. 

“So, come on? What is it this time?”

In the background, Hunk flicked the radio on – once sleek and impressive, it now gave the impression that it had been pulled to pieces and cannibalised for parts a few times before being put roughly back together. Which was more or less what had happened. The early morning host’s voice was interwoven with static, a sure sign that Pidge wasn’t around; technology never dared misbehave like that in their presence.

“Can’t you _sense_ it?” Keith asked, relieved when his voice came out lightly, mock irritated – there had been a lot of tense moments early in their friendship where Lance hadn’t realised that Keith was making a joke because his tone didn’t quite match what he was intending, or Keith assumed that everything Lance said was a joke as he never sounded serious in the slightest. Lance laughed, stepping forward more cautiously this time, clearly broadcasting every movement before making it. Despite himself, Keith could feel the way his shoulders relaxed for the first time in hours. He was exhausted; he had put off coming here for far longer than he should have, and knew that he would be hearing about it later, from Lance, Hunk, and Shiro. He could probably rely on Pidge not to chew him out, if only because they’d be too busy delightedly tattling on him to Shiro in the first place.

Lance gestured, a twist of his fingers that Keith recognised – reluctantly, he spread his hands in front of him, palms up and clearly displaying the deep purple where his second skin had started to flake away.

“Well yeah, I could, but it’d be quicker and easier for everyone if you just told me.”

Even as he spoke, Lance’s fingers – long and dark, carefully manicured and moisturised – flicked a swift dance above Keith’s hands. If he looked out of the corner of his eye he could see the threads of magic Lance was separating out, searching for the odd spell out. Where Keith’s magic came from a place of instinct, heavy in his chest and still so hard to scale down for delicate tasks, Lance wielded his with precision. It was what made him so well suited to cursework.

A tangled knot of magic snagged Lance’s fingers and he hissed disbelievingly. Spanish flew from his lips with a speed and ferocity that even made Hunk spin around from the stove, the blood draining from his face – from the way he twisted his hands, snagging threads of the wards and sending heavy pulses of magic to strengthen the building’s defences, he didn’t know what was going on, only that it was bad. There was an unhealthy green tint to his cheeks, but his hands were completely steady.

“I may have had a run in with a druid,” Keith admitted.

“A _druid_?” Hunk’s voice shook, either with fear or anger. Probably both, actually. Keith didn’t blame him – he likely would have reacted the same if their positions were reversed. “What the hell, man?”

“It may have been Haggar,” he added, deciding that, fuck it, he had already dug his grave. Might as well lay down in it.

A chilled blast swept across his arms, encircling his wrists in heavy ice that curled down over his fingers. The fragile blue threads of Lance’s countercurse lit it from the inside, almost cold enough to burn.

“That’ll stop it spreading, but it won’t last long.” Every word was clipped, none of the usual rambling explanations.

Keith had expected Lance to be angry, had thought was prepared for it – he had expected rapid shouting, flailing, pacing. Instead, Lance’s face was stony. Immovable. He’d gone past angry, past furious and apparently come out the other side into a sort of tranquillity. Keith had never seen Lance like that before, but from the look on Hunk’s face, he had, and it wasn’t good. Hunk sidled over as Lance started throwing open cupboards and slamming ingredients down on the counter, Blue purring and rubbing around his ankles in a way that she probably intended to be soothing.

“Keith, buddy, what uh, what does this curse do, exactly?”

“Well Haggar didn’t stop to explain, but it seems to… erode? Whatever I touch?” 

“Yeah, including your _glamour_ ,” Lance cried, throwing the jar of sage down on the table. “And it’s _Haggar_ – I can’t just break this, and it’s spreading up your arms, and once your glamour’s worn away it’ll start eroding at you and, and, and…” Lance trailed away, groaning faintly when Hunk swept him up into a hug that looked tight enough to be painful. His forehead fell against Hunk’s shoulder with an audible thunk, and he took a deep breath as he was let gently back down. 

And Keith – Keith _knew_ that. It was why he’d put off coming for so long, despite knowing that the curse would, eventually, kill him. But the thought of coming here, of Lance – and Hunk, and even Pidge as they were so often around – seeing his skin peel away from the purple underneath: watching his eyes drain of colour to leave only the faintest of yellows, nothing like the welcoming shade of a familiar. It was almost more than he could bear. So, he hadn’t gone to them immediately, even though he knew how dangerous it was. He flexed his hands as best he could under the ice, watching as it started to flake away. 

Normally, Keith loved to watch Lance work. When he’d first brought Shiro here, he’d been so tense it felt like he was about to vibrate out of his skin, but he’d still had the presence of mind to admire the catch of light over Lance’s forearms as he followed Hunk and Pidge’s directions over Shiro’s prosthetic. There had been no curse, or even a true spell to speak of: the mixing of mechanics and magic was Hunk’s field, while programming and magic had been Pidge’s playground since before they could walk. The three of them moved together with a professional efficiency that spoke of long practice. It had been a stark contrast to Keith and Shiro, both too exhausted to stand upright unaided, and so very, very lost.

Things were different then – before Keith understood what the liquid heat that raced through his veins in anger meant, when magic was something that existed only for other people. 

Now, he could appreciate the artistry in Lance’s work. Hunk was better at magics using domestic ingredients, true, but Lance crushed and measured the herbs and spices by eye – his _abuelita_ had passed her knowledge down to her children and grandchildren, Lance had explained over popcorn and the X-Files once. None of her spells were written anywhere, and it had taken her a lifetime to collect and learn them all. Lance hadn’t said it, but Keith had the impression he hated the thought of her dying and some of those spells being lost. He’d gotten better at recognising some of the more common ingredients for enhancing Lance’s cursework. Already he’d seen Lance sorting through birch bark, agrimony, and colic root, grinding them down to a fine powder before tipping it into a chipped mug proclaiming it to be full of a hangover cure – a gift from Pidge after the infamous Morning of July 30th.

He was jolted from his thoughts by the shrill whistle of the teakettle that Hunk had set on the stove. Lance snatched it up, pouring the water into the mug - even when Blue leapt from the table to his shoulder, he didn’t spill a drop. While Keith had discovered that his magic had an affinity for fire, Lance tended to work better with water. Steam curled through the room, more than could be reasonably produced from such a small amount of boiling water, fragrant almost to the point of cloying. It settled heavy in the air for a moment before it started clinging to the magic coiled around Keith’s hands.

The way Lance’s shoulders slumped told Keith that whatever he was doing was working the way it was meant to.

As did the fact that he immediately started talking again.

“So what were you doing to get Haggar so pissed?” He asked, setting the mug on the table. Blue chirruped and nudged curiously at the threads, steam clinging to her whiskers when she turned to meet Lance’s gaze. “I mean, besides existing, with the whole, you know…” Lance trailed off awkwardly, gesturing to the purple skin now visible on Keith’s palm where the ice had cracked away.

“The Blade’ve gone into hiding again,” Keith admitted reluctantly. “I don’t have any way to find them now, so I just started looking in some of the places they’d been before.”

“Uh- _huh_ ,” Lance replied, waving a hand at Hunk, who stepped forward to place a hand on the shoulder not occupied by Blue. Familiars were a useful link to the magic of the environment, and usually had enough power of their own that no extra help was needed, but this curse had all the power of the Haggar’s druids behind it. They weren’t taking any chances.

“Is there… anything you guys could do to find them?” Keith asked eventually, and Lance glanced up from his work just long enough to shoot Keith an incredulous look. 

“You telling me you went all Lone Ranger and you didn’t even think about asking us first?”

Keith shifted his weight awkwardly, not quite daring to meet Lance’s eyes – though it didn’t matter. By the time he’d lifted his gaze, Lance was focused back on the Gordian’s knot that was Haggar’s curse. The early morning light caught over his cheekbones and in the curls that he took the time to meticulously tame almost every day. Keith ached to be able to reach out, to twist his fingers in that hair and drag his nails across his scalp to feel Lance shiver. 

He wouldn’t, of course. Even without the curse, he wouldn’t risk it.

It took an enormous effort to drag his eyes away, and when he did he found Hunk and Yellow both staring at him. Hunk’s face was scrunched up in what might have confusion and might have been amusement.

Yellow just looked faintly judgemental in the way that even normal cats seemed to achieve without their faces really changing.

“I mean, we could try scrying for them, but they’ve probably got defences set up against that kind of thing,” Hunk said hopefully, his face smoothing out now that he had turned his attention back to the puzzle that needed solving. He was always better off with something specific to worry about. “And me and Pidge can try to rig some security cameras and stuff, but to be honest, your best bet is probably just to wait them out. They’re pretty advanced in tech and magic and all the combos thereof.”

Keith sighed. “I know, I know you’re right. I just, I can’t sit around and do nothing, you know?”

“I hear ya, man,” Lance murmured. “Wait, there’s no failsafes? _Why_ are there no _failsafes_?”

Disbelief and fear pitched his voice up, made it crack in the middle of the sentence in a way that Keith shouldn’t have found horribly endearing. Then again, Keith had done a lot today that he shouldn’t have, and it wasn’t even mid-morning. 

“Unless this curse wasn’t pre-prepared,” he continued. By now, both Hunk and Keith were used to Lance’s absolute need to narrate his thought processes, and used to listening with half an ear for anything important-sounding. “Usually, she has a whole bunch of spells ready and waiting, but you must have caught her off guard; but holy _shit_ , if this is what she can improvise under pressure, then…” His voice tailed away, until only the occasional word was muttered under his breath.

When the curse eventually gave way, it was almost anticlimactic. The was a faint hiss, the feel of a slight pressure easing from around his hands and forearms, and the welcome sight of Lance brushing away the remains of Haggar’s curse like particularly annoying cobwebs.

Suddenly even less sure of what to do with his hands now that they were no longer involuntary weapons, Keith wiped his palms against his jeans, and held up his fist for a celebratory bump.

“Go team?” He offered uncertainly.

Lance whooped and ignored his fist in favour of a hug that nearly lifted him off his feet, crowing something about wildcats. 

There was a distinct sound of Hunk groaning on the other side of the room. Lance pulled back far enough to shoot a grin over his shoulder, still refusing to let go of Keith’s shoulders. It took Keith a few moments to realise that his own fingers remained curled over Lance’s waist, but if Lance wasn’t going to say anything then he sure wasn’t.

“Bro, you know you gotta love the classics!”

A pained “ _Bro_ ,” was the only response.

Chuckling, Lance turned the full force of that smile back on Keith, who abruptly found himself uncomfortably short on air.

“OK then, I know Allura left a template around here; let’s see what we can do about that glamour.”


End file.
